


Power and Control

by Stephanielikes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom Sam, Dom/sub Play, Edging, M/M, Sub Dean, WIP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 01:25:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12877221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stephanielikes/pseuds/Stephanielikes
Summary: written for the November 2017 Wincest Writing ChallengePrompt: The Emperor





	Power and Control

Dean didn’t know if he was pent up, or just bored, but he’d been riding a low swell of horniness all morning. It wasn’t until after the third cup of coffee, when it became clear it wasn’t typical morning wood that he decided to do something about it. He peeked into the library to see Sam still scrolling through news feeds, and passed on to his bedroom.

After tossing his robe, and t-shirt over the desk chair, Dean riffled through the glossy editions of Busty Asian Beauties. He decided against all of them. Skin mags were great for getting to where he already was, and not bad for getting to a happy ending, if one felt like using their imagination, but he was after a lazier climax. No page turning, or brain power required, something to kick back to, and use his hands however he decided. He verified his laptop had juice before he unplugged it, and brought it into bed with him. 

The computer buzzed to life, and the chill plastic warmed his thighs as it heated up. Dean navigated to the video he had in mind. He didn’t bother with headphones, hadn’t in years, but out of courtesy for Sam’s research, and lack of interest in cartoon tentacle porn, Dean checked once to make sure the door was shut before hitting play. Lying back, he pinched his own nipple while watching the chick’s tits bounce in her skin tight space suit. He hardly ever bothered with the plot set up. It was an old favourite, and Dean knew which spots to jump to to get off fast, but he was serious about a lazy Sunday morning orgasm on that Thursday.

Ten minutes in, Dean cupped the dark tent of his cock through his boxers. The door swung open; Dean squeezed himself hard enough to force a little whimper between his lips mimicking the porn. Sam’s face didn’t mirror Dean’s look of surprise. His face a mask, Sam pulled out the desk chair, and sat.

It wouldn’t be the first time Dean masturbated to an audience. Not even the first time the audience was his brother. Dean flicked his eyes between Sam, and the screen. His cock twitched under his palm. Sam barely moved his head, but the message read loud and clear: No.

Dean lifted his hand, and went to close the laptop, but Sam shook his head no again. Dean swallowed, and placed his palms on the sheets beside his hips. Sam smirked, raising his eyebrows with a glance to the back of the screen. There was no way he could see what Dean was watching, but that didn’t stop the blush from creeping into Dean’s cheeks. Tentacles were mainstream enough, but further in there was pissing, and oviposition. When the anal play started, there was even a popping noise, like when one flicks their finger out along the inside of their cheek. Not one scene failed to hit Dean’s dirty-wrong- _hot_ button.  Sam cleared his throat politely, waiting for Dean to look away from him, and back at the porn. Dean exhaled, wiggled his hips in a vain attempt to loosen up his boxers, then did what was expected of him.

Thirty six minutes later, the few frames that passed for the credits came up. Dean’s skin felt on fire with the feeling of Sam’s hungry eyes over every inch of him, and the sizzling need to come. He panted shallow breaths. Sam stood up, closed the laptop on his way up the side of Dean’s body. His brother was so tall, Dean mused, his mouth was at crotch height. He thought he could smell Sam’s arousal, or maybe it was his own. But Sam didn’t free himself from his stiff jeans, and gently push the tip of his prick between Dean’s parted lips. Rather, he cupped Dean’s chin, and brushed his thumb over the plush cupid’s bow, stopping at the open corner. Dean slid the tip of his tongue along the digit that nearly penetrated his mouth.

Sam pulled back, “We have a case.”

Dean nearly cried. He could’ve managed if Sam sounded half as wrecked as he felt, but somehow, his brother held it all together.

“Can I have five minutes alone?”

“No. It’s local, and I want to get there before the shop closes. Probably just a haunted item from an estate sale, but the faster we act, the fewer people get hurt.” Sam stopped at the door. “Wear the blue fed suit.” He left. He’d no intention of staying to watch Dean struggle into the suit pants that were just a little too short on crotch room. They both knew what Dean meant by ‘alone.’ They both knew Dean wouldn’t disobey.

 

Fortunately, ‘local’ still meant four hours out, so Dean got time to regain some of his composure, and read up on the case. Play ended when they were in the middle of a case. Unfortunately, Sam never lost sight of his end game, and had the near inhuman ability to switch between hunter and sexual deviant without missing a step in either direction. Hence, by the time the lace wedding veil was a distant pile of smoldering ash, Dean felt no relief seeing the dip in the road that lead down to the bunker’s garage.

 

“Take a shower, then wait in your room.”

Dean nodded, as turned on now as he had been when they’d road out.

Dean didn’t bother with a cold shower. Though not entirely sure why, Dean knew Sam wanted him hard and wanting – and untouched. A task he took care with, only allowing himself the clinical touches needed to clean his body thoroughly. He luxuriated in the warm water. The heat and pressure worked the hunting knots from his shoulders. Only when he’d cleared his head of everything but Sam did he turn the taps off. Stepping out of the shower, he saw a clean towel laid out for him where his clothes had been. He smiled, dried off, and walked down the hall to his door. In the back of his mind, he noticed the bunker was warmer than usual.

Sam waited inside, not even a hint of annoyance at how long Dean took. He hadn’t showered, but he’d cleaned up. Wiped the road dirt off, changed into jeans, and a flannel, swapped his polished black dress shoes, for his ugly brown boots. Dean’s smile broadened. Sam sidled up to him. Dean wanted to press his nose into the crook of Sammy’s neck, but got side stepped as Sam slipped behind instead. Sam pulled at Dean’s neck with one hand, pressing a hot mouthed kiss to the side of his exposed throat. The other hand tugged off Dean’s towel. Dean pressed back feeling Sam’s rough clothes against his damp skin. Sam nosed behind Dean’s ear.

“Do you trust me?” His whisper burned with lust.

“Yes.” Dean breathed out, giving himself up.

Darkness followed. Sam blindfolded Dean then led him back out into the hall. Dean knew the way too well to be disoriented, but he let Sam guide him. If Sam didn’t mention a step down, Dean would miss it. If Sam turned too soon, or too late, Dean would hit the side of the wall. This was part of the trust.

Sam halted them inside the dungeon before backing Dean up against the wall. It wasn’t cold concrete, as he’d expected. Something, a sheet perhaps, covered it. Sam leaned in close, raising Dean’s hands over his head. Dean’s jutting cock slide between Sam’s thighs.

“Fuck” Dean said.

Sam replied by kissing him. Dean kissed back as leather pads were cuffed to his wrists.

“To keep you honest.” Sam pulled away. Dean rested his head against the wall.

“Fuck.” His heart raced.

Soft noises sounded loud with no visual context. Sam’s boots scuffing the concrete as he moved to the left corner. The whipple of fabric being slid off. The screech of a chair, or bench being hauled closer, but then: nothing. Sam stood silent somewhere in front of Dean, watching. He could feel the presence, the difference in light and heat on his skin between where Sam was, and wasn’t, but not the distance. Anticipation dizzied Dean. He balled his fists, and pulled down on the chains, trying to ground himself in the cutting pain. It didn’t work. He let go. He stood still. He wanted to scream.

An eternity in seconds passed before Sam placed his hand over Dean’s heart. Dean let out a quavering whimper.

“It’s too much.” It wasn’t a question. If it had been, Dean would’ve said: _No. No, I can handle it. I can handle anything._ It would’ve been a lie, and it would’ve blighted this thing they have. So Sam didn’t ask. He removed the blindfold.

Gasping as though he’d been pulled from the depths of the darkest ocean, Dean fought to get his breathing under control.

“Shh. Shh.” Sam soothed. “Look at me.”

It took a moment, but Dean raised his eyes. His brother stood inches away in only a pair of jeans. Dean took in the lust flushed lips before meeting Sam’s gaze. Whatever he saw in Dean’s look, Sam decided to continue.

“You’re not going to come until I say to. If you get close, you’re going to tell me before you can’t control it.”

“Okay, Sammy.” Dean agreed.

Taking Dean’s chin between his forefinger and thumb, Sam turned Dean’s face away to expose the full line of his neck to soft bitten kisses. Sam pushed himself against the older, letting Dean feel his arousal. Dean thrust forward in response. The panic of the previous moment only added to the electric tingle lighting up his skin.

Sam’s hand drifted from his chin to his nipple. Fingertip-light brushes led to tender pinches.

“Touch me.” Dean turned back, eager for their lips to meet.

Chuckling, Sam tugged hard on Dean’s nipple, and got rewarded with a broken moan. He dropped his hand down, coming to rest on Dean’s quivering abdomen, tortuously close to where Dean needed him.

“Please.”

Dean banged his head back when Sam started jerking him with slow strokes. Sam hadn’t prepped with lube, or lotion. Dean liked it best dry, or rather, he jerked off dry the most. Lotion was a luxury, and there wasn’t always time for a shower, but a firm palm burning the line between pleasure and pain could always be counted on to get the job done fast.

“Sam.” Dean warned despite himself.

“Good boy.” Sam said. He let go, and stepped back.

Dean groaned, ashamed at how close to ruining it Sam’s half whispered praise had him. Dean ground his ass back against the wall, his cock bobbing, and swaying.

“Fuck, man.” Finally, Sam sounded the way Dean felt. “Can I touch you?”

“Yeah, gimme a sec.” Dean took two deeps breaths, and barked a quick “Ha!” He thrust hard between air and muted concrete for a moment before the bright spark of pleasure died down to an ember. “Okay.”

Looking up into Dean’s eyes with more than lust, or love, but downright reverence, Sam knelt before Dean. “You’re so good for me.”

Sam’s large hands grasped Dean’s hips, holding Dean still against the wall. Sam squeezed, and Dean felt the brush of chill air on his asshole as his cheeks parted. He clenched around it. His cock twitched in response.

“Do you want my mouth, Dean?”

“Yes.” He wasn’t sure he’d actually spoken, until Sam leaned in to kiss the inside of his knee.

“Where?” Sam lowered his hands to Dean’s thighs, and spread them apart.

The cuffs rubbed the leather padding sharply around his wrists as Dean’s center shifted. Any thought of a coherent response faded when Sam latched onto Dean’s sensitive inner thigh, sucking a bright red hickey, and coming away with a pop. 

“Do you want it on your tight, little hole? Want to ride my tongue until you’re sloppy, and so loose it wouldn’t even be worth shoving my cock in?” Sam nuzzled behind Dean’s balls. His tongue lapped back, slipping just passed the crack, tauntingly close to Dean’s rim yet tormentingly far, then sliding forward to press against Dean’ taint.

“Sammy! Fuck!” Dean lifted himself to his toes, arched his back, and spread his legs further, allowing Sam more access. “Your mouth!”

Sam pulled away.

“No. No. No. No. No. No. No. Please!” Dean’s thighs burned already, but he held his position. He rolled his hips, trying to be enticing.

“But I thought you said you wanted to fuck my mouth?”

Dean stood up straight.

“Okay. Yes.” He panted, never taking his eyes off the slick cherry red of Sam’s lips. Sam’s grin looked devilish. Sam’s hands returned to Dean’s hips, but rather than gently hold him still, Dean felt anchored. He wouldn’t be able to thrust, completely at Sam’s mercy for pace.


End file.
